I stared at Gosto, lips parted, heart splintering in slow, silent agony. He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes turned toward the window instead, avoiding mine like I was something he couldn’t bear to see.

“You’re seriously going to pull the whole ‘I’m incapable of love’ line on me?” I said, my voice low and sharp, nearly a hiss.

His jaw clenched. When he finally looked at me, his irises burned not with anger, but with something buried deeper. The fire inside him wasn’t meant for ...